


Forming

by Collegegrrrl



Series: Hunter [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Sam Winchester Does Not Go to Stanford
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-17
Updated: 2019-09-17
Packaged: 2020-10-20 09:20:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20672987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Collegegrrrl/pseuds/Collegegrrrl
Summary: Sam Winchester is a Hunter. Sam Winchester is a Hunter. Sam Winchester is a Hunter. Sam Winchester is a Hunter Sam Winchester is a Hunter Sam Winchester is a Hunter Sam Winchester is a HunterSamWinchesterisaHunterSamWinchesterisaHunterSamWinchesterisaHunter.And that's all he will ever be.





	Forming

Sam made his decision. He calmly folded the paper and dropped it in the sink, his father's eyes burning into him from the motel's living room, and then he watched numbly as his own fingers lit a match. He vaguely thought about the fact that it was his future he was about to burn, but it was overwhelmed by the inevitable truth; Sam Winchester is a hunter, and hunters don't go to college. He dropped the match. 

\--//--//-- 

When he woke up the next morning, he was resolved to being Sam Winchester, simple as that. Rolling out of bed, Sam pulled on a pair of running shorts, rousing his brother from sleep as well. "Dean, c'mon man, we gotta take our run." Though he was met with grumbles, Sam knew his brother was awake. He made his way out the door, absently noting John asleep on the couch, and took off at an easy jog. He could do this. 

At the three-mile mark, Dean caught up with him, although he was huffing a fair bit more than Sam. They ran in silence for a while, but it was obvious Dean had something to say. Sam waited. 

"So... Dude, college? Really?" Sam huffed a laugh. "Yes, Dean, college. But don't worry, dad's right, it really was pointless." A bit miffed at the blow-off, Dean tries again, "And that’s just... Okay?" With a side-glance, Sam carefully makes his voice blank, "What, dude, even if it wasn't, I'm not gonna slit my wrists to be happy or some shit, lay off man." This time, Dean leaves it alone. 

By the time they get back home, John is awake, and showered, seated on one of the beds with his journal in his lap. He glances up at the two as they slip through the door, his gaze lingering on Sam, and grunts a greeting before focusing back on his notes. Dean triumphantly steals first shower as Sam grabs a drink of water, but Sam only sighs and goes to grab clean clothes. The silence in the room is stiff, but Sam won't be the one to break it. He's done his duty, paid his dues to this family time and time again in blood and tears and sweat. John finally sighs and says, almost to himself, "We'll be heading out after you boys shower, so no use in unpacking, Sammy." Sam doesn't even bother explaining just how much he wasn't unpacking. "Yes, sir." 

John sighs. More silence. 

Dean bounces out of the shower whistling as he vigorously dries his hair. Sam sees right through him; he's on edge, muscles tense despite the steam that suggests a hot shower, waiting to see what his father and brother have managed to get into in the short time he showered. Sam bumps his shoulder on the way past but says nothing. He's got no words, he's already lost the war. 

He showers perfunctorily, barely flinching when the water runs from lukewarm to ice-cold, after all, he'd better get used to it now, it's never going to change. He chuckles drily to himself, the sound lost under the rush of water hitting the shower floor. He dries off, avoiding his own face in the mirror, and when he walks out, both his father and brother are already all packed up and ready to go. Lucky for Sam, he never unpacked. 

In a matter of moments, they pile into the impala, and Sam takes his place in the backseat without complaint. Dean shoots him a look but Sam resolutely focuses on turning his body sideways and propping his legs up on the seat so he can maximize room. The drive is quiet, until John begins explaining the next hunt. Sam is quiet, letting Dean ask the relevant questions, and whenever John looks in the rearview mirror to check if Sam is listening, Sam meets his eyes squarely. He's made his choice, and this is what his choice entails. 

\--//--//-- 

New motel, another day. John’s out, but Sam is itching for a fight, and he knows he can't make one with his father. Not anymore. But that's ok, because what he can do, is kill monsters. He chuckles to himself, quietly, but not quietly enough, apparently, because Dean looks over and wisecracks. " Whatcha laughin ' at Sammy, finally figured out you're the joke?" Sam can’t help but laugh again, louder, because Dean's not wrong, Sam _is _the joke. Sam has always been the joke. Dean's smile cracks, and Sam figures his face has done something he didn't want it to do. He abruptly stops laughing. They sit in silence, and then Dean draws in a breath, and Sam is gearing up to step into the bathroom to avoid that whole situation when their father bangs through the door and- 

Before Sam even notices, he points his gun at the noise, trigger reflexes pulling on his muscles before he's even ready. Both Dean and his father pause, Dean's eyes wide, his father's dark. Sam lowers his gun and says, "Never know when it'll be a real monster." The words fall flat, much like Sam's delivery, but that can't be helped. Instead, he stands up and announces, "I need a drink." The statement seems to shock both father and brother, which gives him ample time to get what he needs and skedaddle, but of course, his arm is caught on his way down the road, Dean searching his face slowly before he cracks a fragile grin and exclaims, "Brothers who drink together stay together, eh Sammy?" Sam has learned there are two things he can't change. 

He's a hunter, and Dean will always call him Sammy, no matter how much he hates it. 

He can't tell which one is worse. 

\--//--//-- 

He can feel the eyes following him across the floor as he returns to his brother with their beers, and it puts him on edge, but he makes an effort to school his face into something friendlier when he catches the darting glances Dean sends his way. 

They enjoy a few bottles between them before Dean snorts, grabbing Sam's attention. "I bet you couldn't get any college pussy anyway, as stringy looking as you are." Sam mulls it over, rolling his bottle between his palms before he sets it down and leans out of his seat, the old cracked leather moaning. "I bet you I could get that girl by the bar in the alley with me in less than five minutes." Dean is gobsmacked, and Sam knows it's because he's never been one for casual sex, but... What else can he have now? 

Before Dean can gather his wits, Sam saunters off to the bar, crowding close to the woman as she gives him smokey eyes, and all he has to do is explain that he, a travelling man, hasn't known the warm touch of a beautiful woman in a mighty long time before she snorts and tells him off for trying such a cheesy line. And to meet her in the back. With an eye roll, she pushes off the bar and tosses him a wink as she sashays her way to the backdoor. Sam tips an imaginary hat to Dean before following, and the look on his brother's face is... bittersweet. Sam learned from the best, and it shows, but Dean has never known him to be the one looking for easy broads in a lowdown place like this, and it's obviously causing some concern in his brother. Sam is oddly angry at that realization. Sam is a hunter, now, _ this _is the life Sam has now, and Sam is making the best of it. Why is it suddenly bad that he's following in his family's footsteps? 

Whatever their problem is, Sam is happily distracted, on his knees with a mouthful of pussy, and a moaning woman holding onto his hair. He doesn't get off that night, something inside him is twisted and he never even gets hard, but he makes his partner come four times to distract her, and she obligingly doesn’t mention it when he walks her to her car on shaky legs, a bodyguard against the things that go bump in the night. 

A hunter. 

\--//--//-- 

After that night, Dean is quieter, watching him more closely, and likewise, Sam makes himself scarce more often, in the local library searching for new hunts or researching their current hunt, and subsequently, he doesn’t see their father much either. 

So, it comes as a surprise to him when he hops in the backseat as they head to their next hunt and John clears his throat pointedly in Sam's direction. He immediately lists off the chores he's completed, guns cleaned, bags packed, first aid kit restocked after Sam needed stitches down his right arm, which still hurts like a bitch. John is looking at him when he refocuses, something off in his eyes, and then he says, "I was gonna ask if you wanted to drive, actually... It can't be fun being cooped up back there." 

Dean squawks, his baby? Sam, though... Sam feels his temples start to pound as he holds in a shout. His comfort didn't matter months ago when he was still trying to escape, his comfort didn't matter when he had to choose between safety and this fuck-up of a life, so clearly, it doesn't matter right now when he has to sit in the backseat of his fa-. Of John's car. "Nah, I'm good," he says, eyes cast down to his hands fisted tightly in his lap. Deep breaths, he reminds himself, deep breaths of air you’ve been breathing since you were an infant in this very car where you fought your brother and ignored your fath- John. Deep breaths. 

Deep breaths. 

Dean is quiet. John is quiet. The car starts, and Dean sulks in the front seat, murmuring about how Dad never offers to let him drive. You are quiet. The car drives. 

\--//--//-- 

Dean is screaming, and its vaguely annoying, because Sam's head hurts, and his legs burn, and his hands are still clenched around that gun, and oh yes. The gun. He sits up quickly, ignoring how his right leg doesn’t really respond, and aims his gun at the black mass that's circling them, registering John's shouts in the distance as he fights his own black dog while cocking the gun. The stare down lasts not even two seconds, but Dean is not appreciating Sam's hesitation, so Sam pulls the trigger, and not a second too soon, as the dog charges them a second time, meeting the bullet to the head with little fanfare, and receiving the second to its heart graciously. 

The matching gunshots a distance away leech the insistence out of Dean's body, but that only leaves more room for his concern, and Sam is in no place to stop him, trying to stand and failing twice before he gives up and admits, "It's broken." Dean's face is devastated, so Sam reassures him, "Dean, come on, it was bound to happen sometime, we're hunters bro." This, for some reason, only darkens Dean's face further, so Sam shuts his mouth and lets Dean makeshift splint his leg, the crashing of John's footsteps getting closer all the while. 

The makeshift splint is nearly done when John arrives, and Sam is startled when John drops a hand to his shoulder, not meeting his eyes as he squats to Sam's level and inspects Dean's work. The expected rant about safety and thinking through his actions before gets someone killed never comes, though, and Sam glances towards John just once, just to check. John has a strange look on his face, and he won't meet Dean's eyes either, which is new. Sam doesn't have time for this, not tonight. 

He plants his hands on the ground and uses his functional leg to push himself up, swatting away Dean's hands and ignoring his squawks of indignation, murmuring in a slurred tone, "Shuddup, we gotta burn the bodies." Dean turns to John, "Dad!-" and Sam expects John to set Dean straight, but instead he feels a hand grasp his shoulder and halt his process towards the car, John's voice low, "Sammy... " 

Sam turns around slowly, eyeing them up, and for a second the words swim in his brain, but he manages to speak," Christo." 

Their faces are shocked, but Sam is simply more confused than ever when their eyes don’t flash, or is it just his vision fucking with him he's not sure, but when he's not attacked he assumes his sight didn't lie, which means that, "C'mon, we need to burn the bodies," he insists once more, hoping the words came through clearly enough for his brother and John. And yet they don't follow him, which would be fine if they'd let him go. He grunts in frustration, and glares at the other two, who look faintly nauseous. They stand in a stalemate, Sam grunting as he shifts his weight impatiently, doing his damndest to stay upright. Slowly, John begins to move again, quietly telling Dean to go get the lighter fluid. Sam just wonders why they took so long. 

\--//--//-- 

For the record, he didn’t pass out until he was lying in a hospital bed watching Dean’s eyes flash as he tried not to look anxious while the doctors got ready to set his leg and cast it. He’s not sure if it was the pain or the drugs that put him under though. 

John wasn’t in the room. 

\--//--//-- 

After that Sam kept an eye on Dean, watching his slow descent from worry to panic, as he settled into life as Sam Winchester. The books he did have that weren’t occult were donated, he accrued scars without care, and he never once asked for anything nor complained about what he was given. 

Instead, he went out and got things for himself. He would do the food runs so he could get his salad and scarf it down before he got back to the room, he would do the research so he would have all the information he could get just in case John decided to hide something from him, he would chat up whoever the hell he wanted whenever he felt like it. He was having a lot of sex, actually, his libido finally coming back with a vengeance, especially since there was no place to get off at home anymore. 

So when Dean finally lost it he knew it was coming, and subsequently he avoided him as much as possible. Days were spent at the library, sitting in hidden corners to avoid the angry footsteps that would patrol the library every four or five hours. Nights were spent hunting or fucking, or, if he felt like it, getting fucked. And on the off chance that he was sent on an errand with Dean by John, he simply chattered about the case and nothing else. It was almost kind of fun to watch the vein bulge in Dean’s neck. Almost. 

But all good things come to an end. Dean had obviously realized he couldn’t wrangle Sam on his own, and had recruited John. 

Sam felt the tension in the air as soon as he walked through the door after a day of research. He glanced up, putting a hand on his gun and disguising his movements as half pulling off his jacket before pausing in shock. Dean and John were strategically positioned, Dean sitting faux-casually on the bed while John was leaning against the wall on the other side of the room. A united force trying to appear less intimidating. Sam slowly finished taking off his jacket, settling it on a chair close to him. Then he slid his hands in his pocket and perched on the lone table in the room, gazing calmly back at the rest of the Winchester family. 

The room was silent for a few minutes before John broke the silence. “Sam. Son.” Sam didn’t allow his facial expression to change. Not one bit. “We’re... concerned. Recently, you’ve not been yourself.” Sam has nothing to say to that because the facts are that The Winchester Family didn’t need Sam; it didn’t _want _ Sam. It wanted a Hunter. So Sam is a Hunter now. John opens his mouth to continue but Dean speaks first. “You gave away your books, you only ever research nowadays, you have sex with literally everyone, and we never talk anymore! What the hell Sam?! You fucking gave up college and now you wanna get back at us?! Is that it?” Dean truly does look confused. John looks interested in your answer as well. 

The smile comes to you slowly, and you sigh, “I just want to be a good hunter so I can finally do something worthwhile for this family. All that stuff, the books, college, that’s not what a hunter needs. And I get my thrills wherever I can, that’s what hunters do. As for the talking... Dean, dude, we’re not chicks, so let’s not do the chick flick moments alright? And since when did you like my rambles anyway? We talk about what’s important dude, the hunt. I don’t understand what the problem is, sir.” He directs that last bit at John, searching for the logic in John’s gaze, knowing he’ll understand it, but John looks... Stricken. 

Sad. 

Sam is abruptly angry. He feels the words rise in his throat, the fury tensing his shoulders and he wants the clench his fists and taste blood. It just so happens they’re hunting a vampire. He strides to his bag quickly and grabs his machete, curtly announcing, “Aren’t we hunting a vamp? I was gonna tell you, sir, in my research today I found that the disappearances have been happening in the same place and from around nine to eleven o’clock at night. We can still bag a kill or two if we go now.” He keeps his eyes on John, who has adopted a blank face, but eventually the man nods, and Dean, who has been silent, simply stands and rummages in his bag to find his own machete. Sam goes out to the car and waits while John and Dean no doubt recuperate in the room, but soon they are on the road, Sam holding tightly onto his anger, Dean and John silent in the front seat. 

The hunt goes quite well, and Sam makes sure to kill his vamps far away from Dean or John so they don’t question why he is so violent. He gets a sick sense of pleasure from the fear in the vampire’s eyes as they watch him hunt them down. It’s a good night. 


End file.
